


yeet the child

by woodswanderer



Category: Carnival Row (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-15 00:07:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20609618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woodswanderer/pseuds/woodswanderer
Summary: Tirnanoc. Before things go bad.“Well,” Philo said, “I can’t fly either. But, I bet we can find a game of our own. One that your mother wouldn’t disapprove of.” The boy looked up at Philo in surprise.“Really? What is it?” he asked.“First, we need to find a big, soft snowbank.” He looked at the boy expectantly.“And then what?” the boy asked, jumping up.Philo leaned in to whisper, “And then I toss you into it. Does that sound like fun?”





	yeet the child

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Over the Hills and Far Away](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20607629) by [swaneewhistleandkazoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/swaneewhistleandkazoo/pseuds/swaneewhistleandkazoo). 

> I have been trolling this website for Carnival Row before there was even a tag. I thought I'd add to the pile.

Philo shrugged further into his uniform greatcoat as he stepped out into the cold. He had just left a briefing with the officers. The news was not encouraging. Philo tried not to think about it, just he tried not to think of the future every time he was with Vignette. A bunch of children were playing under the watchful eyes of their kin, flying in circles, playing some kind of keep away with a leather ball. As Philo stepped out off the porch he became aware of a little fae boy sitting glumly on the edge of the porch. He was dressed just like all of the other children, except for a bandage and brace on one of the child’s wings. 

Oh. This was a sight Philo knew well. He remembered sitting on the edge of the crowd at the foundlings’ home with a broken arm, telling Darius, no no, it’s alright, you go on and play, I’ll just watch. He felt the boy’s glumness with a familiarity that almost made him laugh. How far he’s come from being that little boy. How he knows the feeling of not being able to fly.

Philo stepped forward and sat down near the boy, crossing his arms over his knees. He watched the boy out of the corner of his eye, trying to think of an opener. 

“It’s rotten luck, having to sit out on the games, isn’t it?” he said, trying to sound as friendly and sympathetic as possible. “I bet that hurt real bad when it happened.”

The boy looked at Philo, looking even glummer, if that was possible. “Ma says I can’t play with the other kids, not even on the ground! I can’t run, or jump, or twist, or do anything that could hurt me further,” he recited, his lilting voice presumably mimicking his mother’s voice giving him his marching orders. “Not for three weeks! That’s forever!” the boy cried dramatically. Philo thought that three weeks must feel like an eternity to a child of that age. 

Philo nodded sympathetically. “That is an awfully long time. But if you hurt yourself, it would be even longer until your mother let you play again. She might even keep you in bed,” Philo lowered his voice as he mentioned the nightmare scenario. The boy looked aghast. 

“I don’t want to be stuck inside. That would be horrible,” the boy said, “But I’m so tired of sitting around. And I can’t even leave the mimastry. I’m just stuck here. And they’re all playing up there.” He looked up at his friends, flittering around the upper level porches. 

“Well,” Philo said, “I can’t fly either. But, I bet we can find a game of our own. One that your mother wouldn’t disapprove of.” The boy looked up at Philo in surprise. 

“Really? What is it?” he asked.

“First, we need to find a big, soft snowbank.” He looked at the boy expectantly. 

“And then what?” the boy asked, jumping up. 

Philo leaned in to whisper, “And then I toss you into it. Does that sound like fun?” 

The boy looked at Philo in wonder, “I’ve never been tossed before,” he said quietly. “Let’s go around the side of the prayer building. There’s some good snowbanks there because people don’t walk over there.” He ran off with Philo behind him, the other children watching from above.

**

Vignette muttered to herself as she walked around the mimastry. Mima Roosen had noticed that Philo had not gone off with the other officers after their meeting and asked her to find him. He had been supposed to meet her, as a matter of fact. But he hadn’t, and now Vignette had been roaming around the mimastry and the surrounding area for half an hour. 

She was about to go look in the barracks when she heard the sound of children laughing coming from behind the mimastry. Vignette followed the sound and saw a line of children, wings moving as they waited in excitement. She saw Philo standing on a tree stump lift a child up under the arms and swing them back and forth, counting, and on three, toss the child into the snowbank, which had been built back up a few times. She flitted up into a tree to watch as the children just went wild, and as the child who had been thrown sat up in wonder and shook snow from their face. ‘That was amazing!’ they shouted and struggled to get up, and take their place in the back of the line. 

Vignette felt a smile come to her lips. Then she had a mischievous thought and gathered snow from the branches and formed it into a ball. She carefully pulled her arm back and lobbed it at Philo, flying out above the gathering. “Snowball fight!” she shouted.

As the children scrambled in glee, she saw Philo’s face as he shook off the snow. He smiled at her and shouted back, “This means war!” A cheer rose from the children as they already were throwing snow at each other and Philo and Vignette.


End file.
